


A Fire In This November Sky..

by TheGhostOfYou



Series: One Shots; the Gallavich style. [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:35:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5417288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGhostOfYou/pseuds/TheGhostOfYou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 2. Episode 11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fire In This November Sky..

**Author's Note:**

> So, yes, I'm very new to this fandom (only on season two right now, don't judge) but I'm already so so in love with this show. I think Ian and Mickey have so much angst and chemistry, even at this point that it just kills me. 
> 
> And this moment in the show? It was just so emotional, and such a hard hit to everyone that I had to incorporate it in somehow. So I really hope all of you enjoy this little thing I wrote up.
> 
> Also hope everyone has a splendid winter break :)

Ian runs. Runs through the cold, the empty streets. He runs till his knees give out, and his breath falls in pants. 

He runs through the front door of the station, a thin layer of snow sticking to the top of his shoulders, his hat. The staff is minimal right now, but it's Thanksgiving afterall. Everyone is with their family. Everyone except Ian. And apparently Tony, too.

The blonde officer is sat behind his desk, eyes tired and downcast as he waits for the dreadful night to come to an end. Ian doesn't like how sad the usually cheery man looks, but he's not complaining. He would never able to accomplish what happens next if anyone other than Tony had been here.

"T-Tony.." The officer looks up, taking in every thing at once. The torn look in Ian's eyes, the way his cheeks are flushed pink from both the run, and the cold. He immediately goes from looking sad a moment, to sympathetic, rising from his seat so he can place a comforting hand on Ian's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Ian.. Fuck." It's all there is to say, and Ian shrugs, forcing his lips to life up into a smile. Because, yeah, everyone is sorry. But he didn't come here for Tony, he came here for someone else.

"My buddy Mickey..." He starts, mostly unsure about how he wants to go about this. But Ian swallows down the lump in his throat, because he needs this. "He's doing time in juvie. But.. But I need to see him, Tony. I just... I need to."

Seems like Tony has understood, because next thing Ian is aware of is that he is being coaxed outside into Tony's car and they're driving to where Mickey and the rest of the delinquents are kept together. No words are shared between the two, and that's okay, because neither no exactly what to say. 

The drive is short, quiet too, but not uncomfortably so. It's once they're standing at the back entrance, with Tony talking quietly to the guard, that Ian panics. Mickey's words floating around in his head. "done," "you were nothing but a warm mouth to me." Maybe he genuinely doesn't want to see Ian, but Ian wants to see him. Needs to. Won't make it through the night if he doesn't. 

Tony's coughs quietly, but just loud enough to draw Ian's attention back to the present. The guard has gone, and Ian's being led inside, through an unfamiliar hallway where one of the rooms is lit. He can tell by seeing the smidgen of light coming from under the door.

"Go on in." It's the first thing Tony has said since the car ride, and it's quiet, gentle, no judgement. So Ian goes along, his fingers only trembling slightly as they pry the door open, and shut it behind him without more than a ten seconds interval. 

"The fuck, Gallagher?" That voice, the chipped harshness to it. The same voice Ian's heard, weak and vulnerable, as Mickey would come undone under him. He's missed that voice, and hearing it makes his knees weak, makes his heart squeeze.

"Did you fuckin' tell them? Are you asking to have your fucking tongue ripped out? Fucktard!" Mickey's panicking, Ian can tell without even glancing at him. It's the way, his voice gets hoarse at the end, as if he's desperate to get as far from here as he can. And it breaks Ian, he falls to the floor, his legs giving out, curling into himself as the first sob is heard. Followed by another and another. His glassy eyes fly up to meet Mickey's, whose just frozen in place. All that anger, replaced by what first looks like shock, and next concern. But Ian just stays in place, desperately trying to quieten himself down.

Mickey's walking towards him. Slowly, as if he's afraid of Ian. Afraid of all those tears, all that raw emotion coming out of someone. But there he is knelt in front of Ian after a moment passes. "What.. What the fuck happened?" His hands are fidgeting by his sides. Too uneasy, he doesn't know how to offer comfort. He never has. Not to anyone.

But the closeness just makes Ian reach out, yanking at Mickey's shirt, throwing it aside without a single protest from the older man. Because fuck, if this what Ian needs, if this is what he needs to stop looking like his heart's been torn into two. Mickey will do it. 

Everything moves in a blur from that point. Mickey picks Ian up onto his feet, and clothes are shed. Tossed into every direction as hands are every where at once. Mickey's being backed up against the table, as Ian attacks him with his mouth, crossing every inch of flesh except his lips, because they don't do that. 

Ian's got Mickey on the table, with his legs spread and propped up on shoulders as he pushes in. Letting the heat from Mickey's body in-trap more than just his dick. His mind too. He puts all his thoughts into it. In to get them both off. But it's harder than he thought because he can't stop. He can't stop thinking about all the blood, the look on Monica's face, the sudden weight on his chest that still hasn't gone yet. 

And before Ian can stop himself, he's crying again. Tears rolling down cheeks, some down onto Mickey's chest. Mickey can't wrap his head around this. Can't understand how someone so tough, so strong like Ian can be reduced to this. So tentatively he reaches a hand out, trying to wipe at tears that continue to wet flushed cheeks. 

That gesture, so simple, so unusual, it helps clear Ian's mind, and before more tears can be shed, he and Mickey are floating off, overcome by the waves of pleasure.

Usually after they fuck, Mickey subtly glances at Ian every little while, to watch the boy glow, to see the smile that he wears. Lazy and carefree. But none of that is there this time. Ian just looks broken. So he sits by him, speaking softer than you could usually expect from Mickey.

"Gonna tell me what happened now?" 

Ian shrugs, turning so Mickey can't see the warning sign. The sign that Ian is close to more hysterical crying. "Mom.." He has to force himself to call her that. Because right now she feels like just Monica. Selfish old Monica. "She slit both her wrists, right there during Thanksgiving dinner. In front of all of us, Debbie.. Carl.. She wanted to die with us all in the next room." His voice cracked more times that he'd want to admit, but he doesn't hear the dead silence he expected, nor does he feel the gruff attitude coming off Mickey.

Instead there is a pair of arms going around him, slowly, full of caution. Because this is a different kind of intimacy. The kind Mickey doesn't do. But right now he's trying, because no one deserves to feel this way. Especially not Ian. "That fucking sucks..." He whispers, just holding the younger boy to him because there's nothing else he knows to do.

Ian turns, so he's nearly on Mickey's lap, face buried into a bare chest. Crying against the warm flesh so it's not too loud to their ears.

"That selfish fucking bitch!" Ian can't believe that those words are finally able to knock themselves out of this threat. He also can't believe that Mickey Milkovich has him huddled close, trying to comfort him. It's so surreal.

"I know, Gallagher. I know." And that's the first person who hasn't argued with Ian's feelings since it happened. Mickey's the first person who hasn't blankly said he's sorry, because that's what's expected. No but this, this gesture. It's Mickey's way of saying he's there. 

They spend the rest of the night like that, Mickey holding Ian to his chest, saying nothing and allowing Ian to pour out all that pain that's been wound up in him for too long now. He doesn't move away, when Ian, finally exhausts himself enough to sleep. His face pressed firmly to Mickey's neck. 

Mickey for once doesn't care about tomorrow, or how he's still stuck here. Doesn't worry about who knows fuck what. The only thing he can think about is how in the morning Ian will be forced to leave, and deal with all this on his own. Mickey hates himself for being stuck inside here, while Ian's life just gets more fucked by the second. 

So when morning comes, and thankfully Tony is the one who comes to get Ian, he takes longer than he should hugging Mickey goodbye. And Mickey doesn't even think of pushing him away.


End file.
